I see Luceti has a very poor sense of humor lately. So, um. I know that a lot of you are...having a hard time at the moment, so I thought I'd let you all know that, as of tomorrow, my doors will be open for anyone seeking guidance or therapy. I used to do this back home, and I recently set up an office in my apartment's spare room.
[And she writes
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[That's a very small and very shaky voice there.]
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Oh, do you not know what that is? It's...grown-up talking.
[She thinks she's talking to a kid!]
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Doctor McCoy mentioned it to me once, b-but he never told me what it was.
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...oh dear. Someone seems to have gotten stuck again. :<]
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[She eventually hears the sound in her closet. And oh my god, she...grabs the lamp she bought. It has to be one of those talking animals, right? Right?!]
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Eventually, the door to the closet will open, but whoever's in there seems to be caught up in Emma's clothes. Ahh, closets are so troublesome!]
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[And she turns around, moving away from the door. She's torn between calling for help and finding a weapon.
Eventually, she grabs her lamp.]
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It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know.
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